


Off Duty: An Evening Down the Pub

by Kalypso



Series: Sort of trilogy, about evenings, which eventually acquired a fourth part [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-13
Updated: 2010-08-13
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:01:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalypso/pseuds/Kalypso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An evening down the pub with Lestrade has to be less disconcerting than an evening at 221b with Sherlock. Or that's what John thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off Duty: An Evening Down the Pub

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first story I wrote in the _Sherlock_ fandom, and I don't think any fic before or since has flowed out so easily.

"John Watson?"

"Oh... er... Inspector Lestrade?"

"No need to be formal, I'm off duty," said Lestrade. He gestured at a pub over the road. "Fancy a drink?"

Well, it wasn't as if John had built up much of a social life outside Baker Street, and he wouldn't mind an hour or so in which he wasn't trying to follow the leaps of Sherlock's conversation. So he let Lestrade steer him into the Allsop Arms and buy him a pint. There was a match on the big screen as they settled down at a table in the corner with a couple of real ales.

"Good shot," remarked Lestrade.

John glanced round at the football. "Sorry, missed it."

"To get the cabbie, I mean."

He did his best innocent look. "Oh... must've been, mustn't it?"

Lestrade grinned smugly, so John gave up and waited for whatever was coming next.

"No, he didn't tell me. Well, he _did_ , really, he got halfway through his analysis, then stopped, stared at you, tried to persuade me to forget everything he'd said, and rushed off to get you out of my way. Which was quite the most interesting aspect of the whole business."

"What d'you mean?"

"Sherlock Holmes trying to protect somebody. Why would he do that?"

"I don't know." Actually, John had been wondering himself. "Doesn't want the bother of finding another flatmate?"

Lestrade smirked.

"Er, there's nothing going on..." At least, John didn't think there was. But that was too confusing a subject, so he returned to one it was practical to worry about. "Are you going to charge me?"

"With manslaughter? Or possessing a gun without a licence?" Lestrade paused, then shook his head. "Not for the time being, anyway. The licence thing might be useful next time I need an excuse to raid the flat." He raised his glass as John pondered ways of getting rid of the gun... no, they needed it, he'd have to find a better hiding place. Lestrade continued, quietly. "I'm glad you killed the cabbie when you did. Do you think Sherlock would have taken the pill?"

"He says not."

"Do you believe him?"

"I don't know."

"Do you think he really knew which was which?"

"He says he did. But he was annoyed that you took them away before he could get them home and run tests. What do you think?"

Lestrade shrugged. "I think it was pure chance."

"The cabbie hit lucky four times?"

"It's possible. He _was_ dying, that checked out, so it may have been an elaborate form of delayed suicide. If we'd found him dead and assumed the victim was the killer - that might have appealed to his sense of humour. But he obviously knew the way to hook Sherlock..."

"...by pretending there was a logical solution which he ought to be able to work out."

Lestrade nodded approvingly. "You're getting the hang of it."

John closed his eyes for a moment, recalling the scene he'd glimpsed through two windows. What if Sherlock had died? But what if the cabbie had died - well, he had, but would they really have believed that Sherlock had poisoned him?

"You know your sergeant thinks Sherlock _could_ commit murder?"

"She's mentioned it once or twice."

"Do you think that?"

"No." He hesitated. "I don't think so. I told you - if we're very lucky..."

"He could become a good man. I remember." John stared at Lestrade. "That's what this is all about, isn't it? You didn't just bump into me tonight. You were looking for me."

At least Lestrade didn't pretend not to understand. "You're a military man, discharged before your time. You need a mission. And _someone_ ought to do it. God knows his family failed."

"You seem to understand him as well as anyone..."

"Even if I had the patience, which I haven't, I've got my hands full with my own team of egos. Never mind the criminals."

"Your team aren't as bad as Sherlock."

"No one's as bad as Sherlock. But they're my responsibility, and he isn't."

"What makes you think he's _my_ responsibility? And what the hell makes you think _I_ can change Sherlock Holmes?"

"You didn't run away screaming the day you met him. Or the next day, when you realised he wasn't just the most maddening man in London, but dangerous with it. You _moved in_ with him. You _killed_ for him. And he responded by trying to protect you. That's probably the most human thing I've seen him do in five years. He's chosen you, even if he doesn't know what for."

"You think I'm up to it?"

Lestrade looked smug again. "Trust me. You're a doctor."


End file.
